


The Wor(Be)st Birthday

by izukillme



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddles, Cute, Fluff, Happy Birthday Makki!!!, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, also Tsukkikage bc i can not resist them, marine biologist matsukawa because i can, soft, these 2 are criminally underrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izukillme/pseuds/izukillme
Summary: Takahiro Hanamaki readies himself for the worst birthday.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	The Wor(Be)st Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAKKKIIIIII!!! Damn it's been too long since I posted Haikyuu on here 😂

Takahiro Hanamaki sighed and flopped backwards onto his bed, muscles groaning in protest as his arm lodged itself securely under the bulk of his (rather heavy, considering he kept himself quite fit) torso.

It was a special day - January the twenty-seventh. Or at least, those who knew his biodata would tell him it was a special day.

On this sort of a day, there existed two kinds of people. One who celebrated it, and the other who rued it. Hanamaki belonged to the second category; because today, he was twenty-five years old. And he did not, in the least, feel ready for it. 

It seemed like his entire past had just been yesterday. Learning volleyball as a child, pranking people with Matsukawa, Seijoh’s final match as a team against Karasuno, moving into the apartment he would share with Matsukawa for five years straight, graduating from college with his degree in journalism… all of it. 

Twenty-five. He felt young, yet old at the same time. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… those years had all passed in a blur, and Hanamaki hadn’t thought much of them; every year since he entered high school, all he had done for his birthday was to pig out on street food (and once they were legal, alcohol) with Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa, and wake up the next day with a horrific hangover. 

This year, things would be different. For one, Oikawa and Iwaizumi had recently moved to America. And Matsukawa had taken up an internship in the Maldives, one that was extremely lucrative for the field he wanted to pursue; marine biology. His friends couldn’t - and he wouldn’t want them to - fly all the way down just for his birthday. He could expect a call for sure, but he still felt sad at the thought that his closest friends wouldn’t be there to celebrate with him. That was one of the reasons he rued the day.

The other was an indescribable sadness that weighed heavily in Hanamaki’s heart. Well, actually, he  _ could  _ describe it; he just didn’t want to. Didn’t want to admit to himself that it felt like everyone in his life  (Matsukawa) was leaving, leaving him behind for better things, and only he was still stuck in this shithole of an apartment with a stagnating job - 

_ Damn it _ , wasn’t he on the track of ‘not admitting it to himself’?

Sighing loudly, Hanamaki pulled himself up with some effort and reached for the flask of coffee on his bedside table. Opening it, he poured the hot liquid down his throat and immediately regretted it. Still, it had done its job; he was now fully awake. He mentally congratulated himself for having the bright idea of keeping coffee by his bed every night so he didn’t have to blunder about in the mornings (it had been Matsukawa’s idea, actually, but Hanamaki wasn’t thinking about Matsukawa, not now), then mulled over what he would do today. Hanamaki was never one to dwell on things; he’d rather be pragmatic and think about how best to get his next paycheck. 

The sound of his phone ringing with the shrill tone he’d set for his boss’ number made Hanamaki grab the device and lift it up to his ear in milliseconds. Mishima-san was a lazy but impatient man and hated waiting, especially on phone calls.

“Yes, boss?” he spoke into the receiver.

“Takahiro, you’re expected at the office today.” Mishima-san said curtly. “Be here at 9.15 sharp. And for the love of God, please don’t wear one of your printed shirts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hanamaki said, holding back the sigh in his tone. You wouldn’t be called to the office unless you had done something either fantastic or horribly wrong.

He looked at the clock; it was eight fifty-two. His workplace was about ten minutes from home if he took his bike and it would take a minute to get up the stairs into Mishima-san’s office, so he had exactly thirteen minutes to get ready, inclusive of shaving, showering and finding a pressed shirt and slacks.

_ Today just isn’t my day, is it? _

As Hanamaki looked at himself in the mirror, he saw someone he’d sworn to himself that he’d never become. Unshaven, with bags under his eyes from too much work and too little sleep, a weariness in his gaze that didn’t just come from the lack of rest but from the extinguishing of the fire within. He let out a sigh and applied shaving cream to his face, determined to at least fix what he could. He might have some concealer lying around from the last time his sister visited; that would help with the eyebags. And he distantly recalled pressing a shirt and slacks and keeping them safely in his drawer in case an emergency just like this sprung up. 

Never let it be said that Takahiro Hanamaki wasn’t good at damage control.

(He shoved down the feeling of missing Matsukawa because there was no room for that right now and got moving.)

Twelve minutes later, Hanamaki raced out of his house with his laptop and papers for the latest story in his humour column, climbing atop his motorcycle and zipping down the streets of Tokyo. As predicted, it took him no longer than ten minutes to get to the head office of Catapult, ‘Japan’s hottest online magazine’. (It was nowhere near. Catapult was terrible, but you didn’t hear it from Hanamaki.) He climbed up the stairs two at a time, arriving outside his boss’ office with thirty seconds to spare.

Hanamaki let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and used the glass of the window to fix up his clothing and hair that had gotten dishevelled in his mad flight from home to work. He finished arranging himself just as the door opened and Mishima-san’s face appeared.

“Well, Takahiro,” he said with a small smile. “I must say, I’m impressed. You arrived exactly on time,”

“I was early, actually,” Hanamaki pointed out with a shit-eating grin. “Thirty whole seconds,”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” said Mishima-san dryly. Then he stepped aside, gesturing him into the office. “Go on in.”

Hanamaki stepped almost shyly into his boss’ office. Never in his life had he thought he’d be called up here; it felt rather like being called to the principal’s room. The moment he walked inside, however, all that shyness disappeared - to be replaced by immense shock as he saw the ill-at-ease man standing in the centre of the room.

Hanamaki gawked at the tall, handsome man, whom he last remembered seeing as a sixteen-year-old upstart. Straight black hair, piercing blue eyes and that same air of awkwardness he’d always carried off the court; yes, Tobio Kageyama indeed hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Hanamaki-san,” Kageyama said by way of greeting. “It’s, um, been a while.”

“You could say,” Hanamaki replied, finally getting his voice back. “Um, Kageyama, not to be rude, but… you’re a professional volleyball player, what are you doing here?” 

“That’d be my look-out,” interceded a cool voice, also slightly familiar. A tall blond man stepped out of the shadows, casually taking Kageyama’s hand. “I’m Tsukishima, Tobio’s agent.” 

Tsukishima. Hanamaki remembered him, too; the annoying blocker that had stopped Ushijima.

“Hanamaki,” he introduced himself quickly. “So, er, what’s the purpose of this little visit? I’ll assume this is why I was called to the office?”

“I want to get Tobio’s name out there for real. Get him famous world-wide. Not that the King’s ego needs it,” Tsukishima added with a smirk in Kageyama’s direction. Kageyama just rolled his eyes and mutters, “Shut  _ up _ , Kei.”

Hanamaki couldn’t help staring in shock at the lack of response to the nickname, but he snapped out of it quickly, saying, “Go on, Tsukishima-kun.”

“As I was saying, to get the King famous, the best way to do that is to write a book about him.” Tsukishima said with a meaningful look at him. 

Hanamaki started to understand where this was going, and felt his stomach drop.

“Y - you mean-”

“You,” Tsukishima said calmly, “are one of the best humorists I’ve read. The anonymous tip-off I received about you was bang on. Your free and easy style, the touch of sardonic mockery, and your ability to address serious topics with a light-hearted approach yet deliver the point that needs to be made makes you perfect to write a book about the King here. He’s had a lot of… issues.” 

At this they shared a glance, tightening their grip on each other’s hands, and it was then that Hanamaki saw the golden rings on their fingers. 

“And,” Tsukishima continued, “your style of writing is just right to tackle those issues in a way that makes them consumable for the public without seeming trivial. The idiot would be honoured if you’d do this for him…”

“Write his biography?” Hanamaki glanced at Kageyama, who was shuffling his feet and staring at the floor in embarrassment. Clearly he hated the idea. “I mean… it’s a great opportunity…” 

“There’s no reason for you to turn us down,” Tsukishima said. “The royalties would be exclusively yours-”

“What if it doesn’t sell?” Hanamaki deadpanned. “If you’ve noticed, my column isn’t exactly popular.”

“That’s because the rest of your magazine is trash,” Tsukishima replied coolly. “You’re wasted here, Hanamaki-san. Please consider our offer.”

“I…” Hanamaki was lost for words.  _ Him _ , write a biography? Of  _ Kageyama Tobio _ ? Oikawa would never let him live it down.

But… this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Of  _ course _ it’d sell; not only was Kageyama’s story simple yet compelling, but Hanamaki was a damn good writer and he knew it. And… if this could be what got his career wings…

_ Fuck _ Oikawa, Hanamaki decided rather vengefully. Today was his  _ birthday _ , damn it, and maybe… maybe he could have a fresh start. Everyone else was growing up, finding their feet in the world; he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take his chance to do so.

_ Matsukawa would be proud. I can’t wait to tell him. _

“Please, Hanamaki-san-” Kageyama spoke this time, but Hanamaki cut him through.

“Fine,” he said hurriedly, not giving himself time to think; he might change his mind otherwise. “I’ll do it. I’ll need you to tell me your entire story, though - and you can’t leave out a single detail.” he added, eyes shining at the thought of the whole story. He knew the Oikawa version too well; it was time for the Kageyama version.

Kageyama looked slightly green at the prospect, but nodded. “Thank you, Hanamaki-san,” he said softly, and seemed to mean it. Sincerity oozed from his entire demeanour.

“Thank you, Hanamaki-san,” Tsukishima echoed with the same aura of gratitude, though his was veiled behind the cool facade he usually wore. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

Hanamaki nodded, still unable to believe that  _ finally _ , his chance was here, too.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow for coffee?” he asked. “I’d like to get started as soon as I can.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Tsukishima, a hint of a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you very much.”

He bowed, as did Kageyama, and then they left the office as suddenly as they had come. Mishima-san was left standing in the doorway, shooting a strained smile at Hanamaki.

“Well, Takahiro, looks like you’re growing too big for us, huh?” he laughed, but it sounded forced. “Congrats.”

The Hanamaki of last year might have simply smiled and left. But Hanamaki this year wasn’t going to take his shit any more.

“I was always too big for ya,” he remarked instead and swept out gracefully, not bothering to look back as Mishima-san spluttered in place.

Hanamaki rode his bike through town slowly, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face. He stopped by his favourite bakery, buying a bag of profiteroles - hey, it was his birthday. He was allowed to indulge - to snack on. He ate one as he rode; it tasted like freedom.

When he got home, the apartment seemed…  _ different _ , somehow. The handle of the door felt warm in his hand as he opened it, and he blinked when he saw the person on the sofa.

Matsukawa sat there as cool as a cucumber, dressed in sweatpants and a black shirt, flipping through the channels on Hanamaki’s tiny TV and crunching on chips.

“Hey, Takahiro,” he greeted with a smile, wiping chip crumbs from his mouth and standing up with his arms wide open.

“I - I -  _ Issei?! _ ” Hanamaki stammered out, unable to believe it. He dropped the bag of profiteroles and rushed to embrace his best friend, holding Matsukawa tightly. “I - what are you  _ doing _ here?!”

Matsukawa gently extricated himself from the hug, smiling lazily at Hanamaki. “Well, I wasn’t about to miss your birthday,” he teased gently. 

Hanamaki pinked slightly at the caring words; Matsukawa often expressed his affection for him with memes or jokes, so it was nice to hear it said out loud and clear. 

Okay,  _ maybe _ he had the tiniest of crushes on Matsukawa. 

Maybe it wasn’t so tiny, actually.

...All right,  _ fine, _ so he had been in love with his best friend for four years, okay?! Like that was so wrong.

It happened all of a sudden and yet gradually, like backing up to the edge of a cliff and falling over before you realise you’ve reached the end of the line. One day Hanamaki looked at Matsukawa laughing and it brought up  _ feelings  _ that he didn’t even know he had. The way the sunlight danced on the elegant curve of Matsukawa’s neck as he threw his head back, the way he laughed, hearty and throaty and full of life, the way his eyes crinkled when he squeezed them closed with joy; it was like he was seeing Matsukawa in a whole new light, but that was the thing, it  _ wasn’t _ new. Hanamaki had been looking at Matsukawa differently for a very long time - it was just then that his brain chose to inform him of it.

He brought himself back to the present and was greeted with the blessed image of his friend stretching, revealing a swatch of darkly tanned and muscled torso, no doubt from all that swimming around in the ocean. Matsukawa caught him staring and smiled.

“Enjoying the view?”

Hanamaki smirked back. This was easy to do; play-flirting with Matsukawa. He could do this, had done it half his life.

“Babe, I’ve got better things to stare at. Like your face; much more attractive.”

“Aw, c’mon, honey…” Matsukawa trailed off, staring intently at Hanamaki.

“What?” 

“Sorry,” Matsukawa said with a smirk. “Just got lost in your eyes.”

Hanamaki grinned. “Here’s directions; to my heart.”

“Your lips look lonely, can I kiss them?” 

Hanamaki’s heart stopped.

For all their play-flirting, neither had ever gone into deep pick-up lines. Sure, they’d joke about sex and all that, but not kissing. Kissing, they’d mutually agreed, was too romantic.

(At least now he knew what the pang in his heart had been when he’d agreed to that.)

“I… isn’t that off-limits?” he asked weakly. Surely Matsukawa was just playing around.

Matsukawa shook his head, looking weary.

“Not if I meant it, Takahiro,” he said softly. “Can I?”

Hanamaki swallowed. 

“You mean you…” he laughed dryly. “You actually want to…”

“Why do you think I’d take a plane from the Maldives just to see you if I wasn’t in love with you?” Matsukawa asked.

_ What?! _

Hanamaki’s entire world started to spin.

“You’re  _ what?! _ ” he shrieked. “I… Issei, this isn’t funny! Just because you somehow figured out that I love you like that - I swear I won’t be weird about it - and besides, we’re best friends so why wouldn’t you take a plane-”

“Takahiro, can I  _ please  _ just kiss you?” Matsukawa’s eyes held nothing but earnest honesty. And by that, Hanamaki knew he wasn’t lying.

“Okay,” he whispered, lips moving of their own volition. Matsukawa smiled and kissed him softly. 

And it was better than anything Hanamaki had ever imagined.

* * *

_ Two hours later _

“Hey, Issei,” Hanamaki started, cuddling into his new boyfriend’s shoulder, “something amazing happened at work today.”

“You got the book offer?” Matsukawa asked lazily.

Hanamaki bolted up, staring in shock at Matsukawa. 

"Wait, you _ knew _ about that?!"

"Who do you think was the anonymous tip-off?" Matsukawa asked, smiling. 

Hanamaki really did choke this time.

"Wow, Issei," he stuttered, "I - I-"

"Anything for ya, Hiro." Matsukawa told him. "I like you a whole lot."

Hanamaki laughed, still unable to believe it. His boyfriend - ! - had been the whole reason that his day had gone so beautifully. 

"I figured as much. You know, from the kissing and the deadpan love confession," he teased. Matsukawa was quick to retort, and soon it turned into their usual flirty banter - except this time, kisses weren't held back.

And Hanamaki couldn't be happier for it.


End file.
